Page 40 of Vicious Is My Throne

Our world of dreams, our fragile hearts.

Worlds quake as they weave their plight,

And in their wake, oblivion's blight.”

He slapped my hand away from the pile of books I was fiddling with. “My master became convinced beings from another world arrived in Old Valarian. They came as conquerors to drink our world dry, but someone fought back. And won.”

His fingers rested lightly on the table. “The invaders became stranded here, trapped in an endless battle with those who defied them.”

“Who were they?” I asked curiously. “The ones who stood against them?”

“My master died before he found the answer. All I have is the riddle that has been handed down from mage to mage since the beginning of our order. But if there was ever an explanation, it was lost to time.”

“Or merely a well-kept secret,” Raz suggested from the doorway.

“The poem is about the Old Gods,” I guessed.

Bexley nodded. “Yes. Over the years, I have carried on my master’s work, somewhat half-heartedly, I’ll admit. But since the poem mentions blight, I have redoubled my efforts, though it seems I am too late, given our current state of affairs.”

There were pivotal moments in life, times when you wondered if you were on the right track. The fact that Bexley was here, looking for the same thing we were…

I didn’t know if I should be grateful or terrified.

I hesitated then tugged Anaria’s handwritten piece of paper out of my pocket. “And what can you tell me about this?”

“Where did you get that?” Raziel surged forward when I flattened the piece of paper on the table, the edges curled, the deep creases dog-eared. “I thought I fucking lost it the day we rode to Nightcairn.”

“Anaria retrieved this from your jacket,” I told him shortly. “Bex, can you read what it says?”

Bexley’s hand shook when he reached for the paper, his eyes alight with excitement. “Wherever did you find these markings?”

Raz shrugged, the very picture of carelessness. “Some old book Anaria found in a library. She was curious about the symbols and wondered if the writing explained what they meant.”

Bexley nearly tripped over himself as he rounded the table and pulled out a worn book, no bigger than a diary. “Those markings are in my master’s journal. There is no writing beneath them, but the symbols…” He frantically flipped through the pages. “Yes, they are the same.” His finger skimmed down the page then over Anaria’s handwritten paper. “Yes. They’re a perfect match.”

“What about the writing? Can you read that?”

Bexley picked up the page and peered closer then pursed his lips. “Some. Hardly any, in truth. This is a very old language. The best I can do is recognize some root words in Old Valarian and extrapolate the meanings. This…this word means battle, and this means…fight. Or party. The etymology is quite close.”

“Enough you could translate?”

“Enough I could interpret every tenth word, and even then wouldn’t be close to being correct.”

“Do it,” Raz said with no hesitation. “As quickly as you can.”

“Do you want to give me a hint of what this is about?” Bexley’s eyes shone with the kind of excitement reserved for small children and madmen. “I mean, if I knew why you had this paper, and what purpose these symbols served, my translation might be more…accurate.”

“Because those symbols you’re so enamored with are etched into our skin.” I yanked back my shirt, revealing the black mark branded over my heart.

“And because we are those conquerors. Five of them, anyway. We need to figure out how to kill the other two before they destroy this world.”

To his credit, after some hyperventilating and too much strong liquor, Bexley was taking the recent developments in stride.

But in my world, liquor fixed everything. Usually.

“The problem is twofold. The Oracle and Corvus are older, stronger, and their roots run deeper in this world.” He blinked happily as I refilled his glass.

“You lot are babies by their standards, no matter how far back your bloodlines run. You are merely the watered-down descendants of once-powerful gods. Attaining your full power could take you a thousand years, maybe longer.”

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